After earning a solid reputation for filming two skate movies, Fruit of the Vine and Tent City, Buddy Nichols and Rick Charnoski challenged themselves to film a definitive history of skateboarding in New York City. The result is Deathbowl to Downtown, an 80-minute film that will be shown at Treasure Hill (寶藏巖) in Taipei tomorrow.
“It’s different than any other film we’ve ever done,” Charnoski said in an interview with the Taipei Times earlier this week. “It’s a skateboard movie that your grandmother would enjoy watching.”
Completing the film was laborious to say the least, including interviews with 97 capricious skateboarders who all thought their story should be the main plotline. Finding the right archival footage to match the stories was also difficult, and editing the film in a timely manner to please the sponsors was impossible. Both filmmakers went broke during the three years it took to make Deathbowl to Downtown and their friendship was tested numerous times.
Photo courtesy of Urban Nomad
“People would come up to me after the screenings and when I asked whether they liked the film or not, they would say, ‘I can’t believe you guys had the balls to do this,’” Nichols said.
Charnoski said the film was different than earlier projects. “The thing about it is that we never took our shit that serious. But this was serious. I committed myself to this project more than anything in my life.”
After the premiere in New York City two years ago, Nichols and Charnoski got a lot of heat from the skaters there and felt like they were blackballed from certain places or events. But Nichols said: “Outside of New York, people dig it.”
Photo courtesy of Urban Nomad
The reception led to screenings in Australia and all over the US. Deathbowl to Downtown was even shown to Harvard and Columbia universities’ departments of urban planning and design. “I just barely finished high school,” Charnoski said. “But with this, we got more attention and positive reviews than ever.”
While the experience has been a mixed bag, Charnoski believes that he will look back on it as positive. “It took us three years to make and the last two years we’ve been touring around with it,” he said. “In a few years from now, I’ll like it.”
In 2020, a labor attache from the Philippines in Taipei sent a letter to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs demanding that a Filipina worker accused of “cyber-libel” against then-president Rodrigo Duterte be deported. A press release from the Philippines office from the attache accused the woman of “using several social media accounts” to “discredit and malign the President and destabilize the government.” The attache also claimed that the woman had broken Taiwan’s laws. The government responded that she had broken no laws, and that all foreign workers were treated the same as Taiwan citizens and that “their rights are protected,
A white horse stark against a black beach. A family pushes a car through floodwaters in Chiayi County. People play on a beach in Pingtung County, as a nuclear power plant looms in the background. These are just some of the powerful images on display as part of Shen Chao-liang’s (沈昭良) Drifting (Overture) exhibition, currently on display at AKI Gallery in Taipei. For the first time in Shen’s decorated career, his photography seeks to speak to broader, multi-layered issues within the fabric of Taiwanese society. The photographs look towards history, national identity, ecological changes and more to create a collection of images
March 16 to March 22 In just a year, Liu Ching-hsiang (劉清香) went from Taiwanese opera performer to arguably Taiwan’s first pop superstar, pumping out hits that captivated the Japanese colony under the moniker Chun-chun (純純). Last week’s Taiwan in Time explored how the Hoklo (commonly known as Taiwanese) theme song for the Chinese silent movie The Peach Girl (桃花泣血記) unexpectedly became the first smash hit after the film’s Taipei premiere in March 1932, in part due to aggressive promotion on the streets. Seeing an opportunity, Columbia Records’ (affiliated with the US entity) Taiwan director Shojiro Kashino asked Liu, who had
At a funeral in rural Changhua County, musicians wearing pleated mini-skirts and go-go boots march around a coffin to the beat of the 1980s hit I Hate Myself for Loving You. The performance in a rural farming community is a modern mash-up of ancient Chinese funeral rites and folk traditions, with saxophones, rock music and daring outfits. Da Zhong (大眾) women’s group is part of a long tradition of funeral marching bands performing in mostly rural areas of Taiwan for families wanting to give their loved ones an upbeat send-off. The band was composed mainly of men when it started 50